


Little Piece of Heaven

by Miss_Nihilist



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Haircuts, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25580494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Nihilist/pseuds/Miss_Nihilist
Summary: Sebastian could insist all he wanted — Finnian refused to find himself in such a vulnerable position again. Of course, that plan fell flat as soon as the Young Master got involved.
Relationships: Finnian & Ciel Phantomhive
Comments: 9
Kudos: 67





	Little Piece of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this two years ago, but for some reason I never posted it. I guess I thought that it was out of character. And it might be, but not too badly. Ciel does things for his servants and he cares about them. Also, the Green Witch arc made me soft for Finny and Ciel content so I like this oneshot anyway. I’ve gotten back into Black Butler recently and I’ve been going through my old stuff and getting new ideas as a result.

Hiding wouldn’t do him any good. Finnian knew that. If there was one thing he had learned in his years of working at the Phantomhive manor, it was that no one could escape Sebastian. His only hope was that the Young Master kept his butler busy enough that Finny was left alone. 

Crouching in a cabinet was probably childish, though. He had grabbed his straw hat by the brims and was bending it down over the sides of his face, clutching it to his skin with clammy hands. It was supposed to cover his hair, but the blond strands ran down his neck and almost to his shoulders.

In the dark, curled up in the fetal position, there was only the quiet sound of his labored breathing and pounding heart. Both were due to anxiety — it had been a long time since exercise had made him tired.

Suddenly, the cabinet was yanked open. Finny bit back a shout of alarm, ducking forward just in time to avoid Sebastian’s gloved hand. The butler was pushed back when Finny barreled into him, forcing Sebastian to take a step back. Even though the contact should have been enough to crack bones, the butler merely let out a huff of annoyance as he observed Finnian on the floor. Sebastian sighed. “Must we really make this into a struggle? I have more important things to attend to.” 

Finny didn’t answer, springing to his feet and making a run for the door. He didn’t bother stopping to open it. He ducked his head, and the wood splintered and was thrown from its hinges as easily as parting a curtain. Skitting out into the hall, Finny made a sharp turn without breaking stride, leaving the kitchen behind to make for the stairs. 

He didn’t dare turn around to look, but Finny could feel Sebastian right on his heels. If there was anyone in the world stronger than he was, it was the butler. Sometimes, he was more terrifying than Finny wanted to admit. 

The rush of adrenaline and a shot of desperation propelled Finny up the stairs and out of Sebastian’s reach. The gap between them widened, but Finny doubted that it would last for long. He had the layout of the manor memorized from Baldory’s strategy meetings and briefings and the drills they ran whenever the Young Master was away from the manor for long. He was resigned to being caught eventually, but maybe if he could find something to help protect his head… 

Now that he was running on carpet, skidding around the corners caused his heels to dig in and leave friction burns. Finny felt a pang of guilt for running the expensive flooring, but he would apologize for it later. Right now, the most important thing was to keep running. If there was one thing that he excelled at, it was running. 

Another corner, only this time, there was someone waiting around the bend. For a split second, Finny didn’t quite understand what he was looking at. He recognized that eye, sapphire blue and wide with surprise. It was going to be a painful stop, but Finny dug his heels into the carpet anyway. 

To Ciel’s credit, he didn’t flinch. He titled his head up to look at his gardener as Finny, heart slamming in his throat and his legs weak with the effort, skidded to a final stop just inches from his employer. A shaky smile found its way to Finny’s face as he forced an awkward laugh.

It looked like Ciel wanted to say something, his lips parting, but the young Earl couldn’t think of the right words. His expression flittered between amusement, frustration, and confusion. Before he could settle on one, there was a sigh from behind Finny and a tall shadow was cast over the two of them. 

Sebastian knotted his fingers in the back of Finny’s shirt, pushing down firmly to force him into a deep bow. “Apologies, Young Master,” came his deep baritone voice. “I was dealing with a trifling chore that managed to blow itself out of proportion. It won’t happen again.” 

He let Finny stand up straight, but didn’t relinquish his hold. Without waiting to be dismissed, Sebastian began leading Finny back down the hallway. Cold dread sunk into Finny’s gut, but before he could even begin to think of what to do now, his Young Master finally decided on what to say. 

“Sebastian. Wait,” came Ciel’s command. There was the soft thump of his heels on the carpet as both servants, equally confused, turned back to look at him. 

He studied Finny critically for a moment, his gaze searching. A tinge of annoyance found its way to his face as his eye slid over to Sebastian. “Why haven’t you completed the task that I assigned you?” 

Had Sebastian been anything less than the perfect butler, he might have been annoyed by the accusation in Ciel’s tone. Instead, he inclined his head in a polite recognition of his master’s authority. “I have been attempting to, but Finnian refuses to let me anywhere near him with the scissors. Short of tying him down, I can think of nothing that would allow me to complete your small chore, though I find myself doubting if any ropes would be strong enough.” There was an undercut of frustration in his words, aimed exclusively at Finny's poor conduct and not Ciel’s exasperation. 

The Young Master mulled over this problem for a moment. When his stare snapped over to Finny, the gardener straightened his posture reflexively. “It isn’t proper for my servants to have a haggard and unkempt appearance, and as a gardener, I expect that long hair will only catch twigs and leaves. Since you refuse to do so yourself, Sebastian must. I expect that he could do a most satisfactory job. So,” his eye narrowed, “why won’t you allow Sebastian to cut your hair?”

Finny wanted to look away from the accusation in that eye. He felt something in his chest ache with regret. His job — indeed, his _life_ — was dedicated to protecting the Earl and the manor. To have disappointed Ciel, Finny felt ashamed of himself. 

“I— Young Master, truth is, after so long in that place where you found me…” He ran a hand through his hair, playing absentmindedly with the tips that hung below his chin. It was thick and heavy and tangled after years without being cut and hardly brushed. “They kept us all clean-cut in there. Now that I have the freedom to grow my own hair, I… I don’t want it to be cut again.” 

He hadn’t even known what color his hair was until after the Young Master and Sebastian rescued him. Watching his hair grow in properly for the first time had been a delighting experience. Back in the research facility, every child experiment was kept hairless. Finny didn’t know why, exactly. He didn’t like to think about it. He hated to remember the sterile rooms and the chains that kept him from struggling. He could still vividly recall the unfeeling, cold way the doctors would look at him as they methodically cut away both his hair and his autonomy. The way Sebastian approached him with the scissors reminded him strongly of the shadows of the scientists that still haunted his nightmares. Needles, chains, scissors... He didn’t want any of those things near him ever again. Finny didn’t want to feel vulnerable. 

Ciel let out a low sigh and Finny dropped his gaze. He was prepared for punishment or a reprimand, but to his surprise, Ciel only turned to Sebastian and held out his hand. “It can’t be helped, then. Give me the scissors,” he ordered briskly. 

There was a flicker of surprise in Sebastian’s eyes, but he reached into his jacket without hesitation and produced the steel scissors. Finny swallowed nervously, eyeing them, but Sebastian wordlessly handed them over to their master. 

“It goes without saying that someone of my station cannot allow his servants to maintain a disheveled appearance,” Ciel began. “You will have to have your hair cut. But, if it eases your concerns, I can cut it for you.” Uncertainty played in his eye, but then Finny blinked and it was gone. Sebastian’s surprise had turned into a smirk that Ciel refused to acknowledge. 

For a moment, Finny didn’t know how to answer. He tried to reply a few times, choking on his words, before finally forcing his tongue to work. “Young Master… you would do that?” He almost added _"for me,"_ but let the words die in his throat.

The Earl arched a slender eyebrow. “Are you questioning your master’s words?” 

“Of course not!” Finny replied hastily. Remembering his position, he added a bow as an afterthought. “I’m just— confused, ‘s all.” 

“Someone has to do it,” Ciel said simply. “It will serve to teach you a good lesson. I’ve never cut hair before, so when it looks ghastly, you’ll think twice the next time Sebastian approaches you with a pair of scissors.” He turned the tool over in his hands. It was sized for an adult to use and looked clunky and ineffective gripped in his slender fingers. “Sebastian, I’m assuming that you have a set up ready?” He addressed his butler. 

Sebastian inclined his head. “Not yet I’m afraid, my lord. But if you would adjourn to the West Wing washroom, I can have it set up for you by the time of your arrival.” 

That arrangement seemed suitable to Ciel. He nodded curtly, dismissing Sebastian, who obediently turned back towards the stairs and was on his way. Finny watched him go for a moment before turning his questioning gaze back to his Young Master. 

To his surprise, Ciel was gripping the scissors like a knife, a closed fist wrapped around the base. He held the tip against his left palm, applying pressure and turning the skin red as it threatened to split. Shocked, Finny reached out as if to stop him, only to freeze in uncertainty. He wasn’t to touch his master, and even if he was given permission, Finny wouldn’t. He didn’t want to risk hurting the earl. 

Still, the movement caught Ciel’s attention. He didn’t remove the scissors, but he tilted his head up to look at Finny. “Your problem,” he said, voice soft but no less authoritative than usual, “is that you associate scissors with pain and suffering. Allowing the actions of a cruel few to warp your perspective of innocent, blameless objects is not the kind of mindset that I can tolerate in my servants.” 

There was a tone in his voice that suggested he spoke from personal experience. The hand that Ciel had around the scissors wasn't shaking, but his lips had tightened at the corners and his grip was so tight that his knuckles were turning white. The truth that Finny hadn't specified was that he didn't want _Sebastian_ near him with scissors. Not the imposing profile of an adult who's gaze could pin him like a butterfly to a corkboard. He had the sudden feeling that Ciel understood: that the fear of adults, using children like pawns, was shared. For a split second, he wondered if Ciel was thinking about scissors or something far crueler. 

Finny frowned, unsure. He didn't know how to voice his thoughts or if it was even appropriate to ask. What object haunted his master's nightmares? “...Master?” He asked tentatively, but Ciel had already moved on. 

Jerking back into motion, remembering himself, Ciel lowered his hands and held the scissors correctly. He gestured for Finny to follow him, making his way down the hall at an unhurried pace. Apparently, he had nothing else planned for the moment. If he had, then Finny doubted that the Young Master would have the patience to coddle an unruly servant. 

They walked in silence, downstairs and to the washroom that the servants used. Finny doubted that Ciel had ever been in it. It wasn’t as golden and glamorous as the master washroom was but it was clean and plenty spacious for their purposes. If Ciel was disgusted by being in the servant’s area or angered with Finny for bringing this situation upon him, he didn’t show it. 

In the middle of the room, Sebastian had set up a stool and left a towel on the counter. He wasn’t waiting for them, but knowing the butler, Finny would be willing to bet that he was already hard at work replacing the carpets. 

Ciel grabbed the towel, and without waiting for instruction, Finny took a seat on the stool. He lifted his chin up, letting Ciel drape the towel around his shoulders and tie it behind his neck. Nervousness was making his stomach flip and his head feel light, but Finny tried to ignore it. He could trust the Young Master. It was only thanks to Ciel that he was safe now. He had to remind himself of that several times to calm down when his hat was plucked from his head and placed on the counter.

He felt the cool metal of the blade against the back of his neck, and with a start, Finny abruptly yanked away. He sucked in a hard breath, bent at the waist and his head almost between his knees. He could feel his body rejecting this situation. His legs ached to take off running and his fingers curled as though searching for something that he could crush. It would be easy. Nothing was keeping him in place. And if he stayed in one place for too long, then _they_ might find him again. 

It was quite a surprise to see Ciel’s face enter his swimming vision. Finny made an inhuman sound in the back of his throat but choked on it when Ciel placed his hand on Finny’s knee. The touch was so light that it almost wasn’t even there, but it was enough to jar him back to the present. Slowly, he straightened back up to look at his master. 

Staying silent, Ciel watched, unfazed as Finny curled and uncurled his fists, taking deep breaths. Somehow, he seemed to understand that Finny wouldn’t hurt him. He didn’t seem to care that one wrong move from Finny would be enough to snap bones. He didn't seem to realize that, of everyone who Finny was a danger too, Ciel was the one he most feared hurting. Ciel was the only one who couldn't protect himself: he surrounded himself by freaks and misfits and monsters to do the job for him.

“You’re being pathetic,” Ciel said finally. Had it been anyone else, Finny might have been insulted, but instead, he kept his eyes focused on his Young Master and listened. “It’s a simple haircut. No one is going to hurt you. I don’t think that anyone is capable of it, given your unusual talents.” He smirked faintly, but then his expression grew severe again. “If you’re not even capable of sitting through a haircut, you aren’t suitable to work in my manor. It’s a disgrace to the Phantomhive household.” 

“I’m sorry!” Finny started forward, forgetting his place as he leaned in much too close to his Young Master. “Please, give me another chance! I can do it! I can protect you and this manor! I promise!” He pleaded. 

Something in Ciel’s expression changed. It took Finny a moment to notice the slight upturn of his master’s lips. It wasn’t a smile, not quite, but it was entirely different from the smirks that he was so accustomed to seeing. “Promises mean nothing,” Ciel replied. He held the scissors up, snapping the blades together. Somehow, Finny managed not to flinch. “If you wish to prove yourself worthy of being a Phantomhive servant, then act like it.” 

He didn’t wait for an answer. The earl was never patient and he never needed permission to do what he liked. Finny caught his breath when the blades returned to his neck. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly. There was the quiet slice of the scissors closing and a chunk of Finny’s strawberry-blond hair fell to the ground. 

It was like breaking a dam. After the first cut, everything after that felt easier. Finny could catch glances of himself in the mirror and almost had to laugh. Ciel had been right — he really couldn’t cut hair. 

Rather than bother with a brush, the impatient young earl cut straight through the tangles. He dissected the bushiest parts, sloppily eyeing his work and badly butchering any symmetry that might have otherwise been achievable. 

Finny didn’t mind. He was more interested in watching Ciel try to cut hair. He still couldn’t fathom why his lord agreed to do this, but it was nonetheless endearing to watch Ciel scrunch up his face in concentration and mutter half-formed curses from frustration. It was the only thing that kept Finny from thinking that Ciel was doing a bad job on purpose, to teach him a lesson.

When they were at last done, Ciel threw the scissors down on the counter with an upset clatter and yanked the towel off. It was covered in hair and he made a displeased face as he eyed it before unceremoniously dropping it to the ground. “Next time,” he said as Finny stood to look at himself closely in the mirror, “I expect you to allow Sebastian to do his job. Am I understood?” 

Quickly, Finny whirled back around and dropped into a deep bow. “Yes, my lord!” 

He heard Ciel chuckle, wordlessly turning to leave. That was to be the end of their exchange, but before Finny could stop himself, his lips had parted. “Master?” He called. Ciel didn’t reply, but he stopped, turning his head in acknowledgment that he was listening. Finny licked his lips, nervous, but stood up straight again and managed, “Thank you.” 

That didn’t get him another laugh, but he saw Ciel smile again. That time, it was almost fond. “Don’t thank me. Your hair looks ridiculous,” he replied. 

Their conversation was over. Ciel left the washroom, the door swinging shut behind him. Finny stared after him for a moment before remembering his situation and moving to clean up the scattered bits of hair. Even so, he was smiling. Sometimes, Finny could understand why his master would be given a name that meant heaven.

**Author's Note:**

> Ciel means both “sky” and “heaven” in French, though the former is the more common translation. Nonetheless, I stand by my closing line.


End file.
